


The Great War

by RhysCross



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, it's wwi ya'll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 01:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13471224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhysCross/pseuds/RhysCross
Summary: There, standing in immaculately pressed Army greens, hat tucked neatly under his arm, stood David Jacobs. He was older, taller and more broad-shouldered, but Jack recognized that face like the sound of his own name.“Hey, Jackie.”The Newsboys grew up just in time for World War I.





	The Great War

1\. Carrying the Banner

“Captain Kelly!” Came the Major General’s bark. Jack stepped forward, out of formation and snapped into a salute, waiting for him to continue. “Has your Company reported for duty?” 

“Yes, sir. The last of the boys came in last night.” This was being a bit generous, in Jack’s opinion. Race and Spot had rolled in from the bowels of Brooklyn looking dangerously smug just before roll call this morning, but he wasn’t about to mention it. Instead, he focused on issues he could resolve. “But ahhh… Permisson to speak?” 

“Granted.” 

“My roster has us down for a War Correspondent, and ain’t none of my guys trained for that. Can’t really spare ‘em, to do the job either.” There was a beat before he added “Sir” as almost an afterthought. 

“There’s been someone assigned to your Company, you should have been notified up on your arrival, but no matter. I’ll send him over this afternoon. You’ll ship out at the end of the week. Dismissed.”  
Jack snapped another salute, keeping his face schooled into a politely blank expression while he waited for it to be returned, then turned on his heel to get back the barracks as soon as possible. 

xXx

Word of his meeting spread across Fort Hamilton faster than he could walk, reaching the members of Company N long before he did. They all knew what a summons to the Major General meant, and they were eager for news of where their next assignment would be. 

Race met him at the door, opening it even has he reached for the knob and giving him a mocking salute as he walked past. Jack shot him what he hoped was a stern look, “Glad you could finally join us, Lieutenant Higgins. We was getting worried you and Spot had decided to desert at the last minute.” 

He heard Spot’s outraged scoff from several rows of bunks over. “Jack, if you cast aspersions on my honor like that again, you’ll have a mutiny on your hands.” 

“Like you’d want to be responsible for this fuckin’ lot.” He shot back, but he was grinning now, all pretense of discipline abandoned. 

The rest of the Company was gathering around now, drawn by the sound of their three most senior officers talking. “What’s the word, Cap’n?” One of the boys, a fellow from Queens by the name of Fitzpatrick, called out from his perch on one of the top bunks. 

“We’re outta this dump by the end of the week, boys! The exotic trenches of Europe are callin’ our names.” He tried to keep the conversation light, knowing that many of his men were barely more than children, nervous about leaving home and clinging to delusions of grandeur. Spot’s eyebrows shot up as he exchanged a look with Race, but he gave nothing else away. It was always unnerving to Jack how his two Lieutenants seemed to be able to communicate without saying a word, but it made them excellent soldiers and even better leaders. 

Race stepped in to fill the silence that had fallen since Jack’s announcement, “You heard the man! You’re gonna be heroes! I’m sure the ladies of France will be more than happy to let you explore their trenches, if ya get my meaning.” He winked exaggeratedly, and this seemed to break the tension. A chorus of hoots and laughter swept the room and the crowd began to disperse, talking in boisterous tones. 

Jack shouted to make himself heard before he lost their attention entirely, “You can fuck curfew for the next couple of days, this is your chance to take care of any unfinished business off-base! Just don’t get me court martialed, please.” There was a loud cheer this, followed by a mass exodus. He saw Fitzpatrick adjusting his uniform in the mirror before following the rest of his unit out the door and grinned to himself. Christ he hoped that boy got laid before they left. 

Race and Spot hung back, waiting for the barracks to clear out before cornering Jack once again. “We’re headin’ to the front, ain’t we?” Spot said flatly. Jack just nodded. “Fuck.” 

“Did you figure out the situation with the missing guy on our roster?” Race interjected, eager to change the subject. “Draft dodger or what?” 

“Nah, worse.” Jack replied bitterly. “A Correspondent.” 

“Are you shittin’ me right now, Cap? What, like we don’t have enough green kids who probably haven’t scrapped a day in their life, now we gotta deal with this? Correspondents don’t even shoot! They ’s a liability.” Spot was furious, and Jack couldn’t blame him. War Correspondents were almost always dead weight. They had equipment to haul around, were rarely combat trained, and any soldier worth his salt knew that they only reported the good bits about war. The victories and crowd pleasers for the folks back home. Nobody ever wrote about the suffering in the trenches, the dead and wounded, the kids that joined-up expecting adventure and getting nothing but a lung full of mustard gas for their troubles. 

He shrugged, scrubbing a hand over his face, suddenly feeling every one of his thirty-two years. “Orders from on-high, Conlon. Nothin’ I can do about this one.” 

Spot looked ready to challenge this, but Race put a hand on his shoulder, speaking gently. “C’mon, there’ll be time to argue later. I think we got some of that “unfinished business off-base” that Jack was talkin’ about earlier.” His voice was fond in a way that made Jack’s heart twist to hear, and all at once the fight left Spot’s face. He nodded and allowed Racetrack to lead him out of the barracks, their arms brushing as they went. 

Heaving a sigh, Jack stalked to the other end of the barracks towards the entrance to his room. If nothing else, being Captain came with privacy, which afforded him the opportunity to take a nap while pretending to do paperwork. He needed to be around to give the new guy the grand tour, anyway, he rationalized as he collapsed heavily onto his narrow bed. 

xXx

It felt as though he’d just closed his eyes when there was a knock on his door. Hauling himself up, he attempted to straighten his uniform before answering. Half of authority was looking the part, and it wouldn’t do for his newest recruit to get the impression that Jack Kelly would suffer fools gladly. 

Pasting on what he hoped was a stern, stoic expression, he threw open the door… and promptly stopped breathing. 

There, standing in immaculately pressed Army greens, hat tucked neatly under his arm, stood David Jacobs. He was older, taller and more broad-shouldered, but Jack recognized that face like the sound of his own name. 

They stared at each other for what felt like eternity before David finally spoke. “Hey, Jackie.” 

“ _What?_ ” It came out as a wheeze, he couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. It felt like his chest was starting to collapse in on itself, and the familiar nickname after all these years was almost too much. 

“Oh, sorry, _Captain_ Jackie.” David had the gall to grin at him, like the last fifteen years had never happened and they were still teenagers planning rebellion on a fire escape in Lower Manhattan. 

A lick of what might have been anger curled in his gut and Jack chased it, glad for something that might let him form coherent sentences again, “What are you doing here, Dave?” He meant it to come out harsh, but instead he still sounded strangled, even to his own ears. 

“I’m your Correspondent!” Finally, his smile faltered into uncertainty, “I thought you’d be happy.” 

“I need a drink.” Was all he could say, and he turned to retreat back into his room. He strode over to his desk and pulled a bottle of cheap whiskey from one of the drawers, pouring himself a generous measure and downing it in one go. It burned as it went, warmth spreading into his chest and grounding him once again. Without waiting for an invitation, David followed and took the chair across from his. 

“I don’t get it, Jack. I thought for sure you’d be thrilled. It’ll be just like old times, “Carrying the Banner” and all that, just on a much more grand scale.” David was fussing with his hat, twirling it between his fingers, and Jack found his eyes drawn to the movement. It was easier than trying to meet his gaze just yet. 

He was struggling to identify the primary emotion he was feeling right now. Anger was there, and surprise. Definitely joy. But none of these accounted for the way that Jack was struggling to force his heart rate to return to normal. He fought to keep his hands from shaking as he poured another shot of whiskey before offering one to David as a means of delaying having to answer. He took it, but did not drink, instead watching Jack steadily. 

Jack swallowed the feeling down, shoving it away to be examined more closely later when he could be alone to puzzle it out. “You shouldn’t be here, Dave. War ain’t the place for you.” He replied at last, pleased to note that his voice sounded more even. 

David laughed derisively, finally throwing back his drink and exhaling through the burn. “Never thought I’d see the day when you were trying to keep me _out_ of a fight. 

“We ain’t kids no more, Dave. This ain’t some brawl with the local bulls, men are dyin’ by the thousands.” 

“Which is exactly why I need to be there!” He slammed his glass down on the desk for emphasis. “No one’s telling their story, so I have to. The fastest way to end this goddamn War is for people to realize how much is at stake, how much has already been lost, and for what?” His expression was fierce, blue eyes shining with conviction and righteous anger. In that moment, Jack was reminded of exactly how easy it had been for David Jacobs to inspire a crowd. “You can’t stop me. You can have me reassigned, but I’ll still end up across the pond. It’ll just be with another Company.” 

“Can’t have that, you’d be dead for sure.” Jack ran a weary hand through his hair, staring at David in something close to awe. “What the hell happened to you, huh? You just throw yourself at whatever hopeless cause comes your way, nowadays?” 

David’s grin returned, easier and more self-assured than Jack remembered it. “Same thing that happened to you, I’d guess. We grew up. You made me realize I liked having a voice, and I ain’t about to give it up now. And you finally realized you were meant to lead.” 

They stared at each other for a long moment, both searching for something nameless in the others face. David must have been satisfied with what he found, because he continued, holding Jack’s gaze with a gravity that had him leaning forward before he realized it. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back when I went off to school. I wanted so badly to prove myself. To have something to show for all the faith you and the boys put in me. By the time I realized how much time I had wasted waiting until I felt like I’d accomplished enough to come home, you’d already enlisted.” 

Jack tore his eyes away, unprepared for the raw honesty in David’s expression. “You don’t gotta apologize to me. None of us were kidding ourselves enough to think you wasn’t meant for bigger things than selling papes. Smart types like you ain’t meant to stick around for long.” 

David let out a bark of laughter that sounded frayed at the edges, “Kathrine did, though, didn’t she? You two were thick as thieves when I left for school.”

It was Jack’s turn to laugh, but it was more incredulous than the harsh noise that had escaped David. “Nah, she didn’t. Kathy was a good girl, but we wasn’t right for each other. She a career girl, all class, and I hated tryin’ to fit myself into her world. She still sends me postcards, though, and I keep all her articles.” 

“I’m sorry, I-” David began, not looking at all sorry. 

“Stop apologizing!” Jack cut him off with a wave of his hand, finally allowing himself a half smile. “We’re square, Dave. I don’t know about all that talk of ‘leading’, but these guys need someone to look after ’em and I’m glad to do it. I guess we all turned out alright.” 

He nodded, a smile creeping across his face once more. Not the shit-eating grin he used when he was joking, or the rueful upturn of his lips when they were arguing, but the smile Jack had first come to associate with David Jacobs. Earnest and warm, a quiet thing that felt like coming home. “It’s good to have you back.” Jack finally admitted, despite himself. 

“Shut up.” 

xXx

The rest of the day was spent getting David settled in. They moved his equipment into the barracks, found him an unoccupied bunk to claim, and tried to figure out how their old dynamic translated into their new lives. The last one remained unspoken, but it was evident in the way that David experimentally called Jack “Captain Kelly” a few times until Jack finally begged him to stop unless there were around senior officers, or in the way that Jack gently probed into the parts of David’s life he’d missed. 

“You ‘s a real-life reporter now?” 

“According to my degree, anyway.” 

“You got a wife? A family?” 

“What? Christ, no! Been a little busy, I’m sure you can relate.” 

“But I’m sure you got a girl, Dave. A big-shot guy like you, gotta be chasing skirts away left and right.” 

“Do _you_ have a girl?” 

“… No. But I’m about to head off to war.” 

“So am I!” 

Jack had laughed and let the matter drop, happy to fall into the familiar back and forth he hadn’t realized he’d missed quite this much. 

Some of the boys returned later that evening, including Spot and Race. Race was unabashedly delighted to see David again, clapping him on the shoulder and launching into stories of their newsie days to the younger recruits, much to David’s discomfort. Spot was more wary. 

“So you’re our new Correspondent?” 

“Looks that way.” 

“Can you shoot?” 

“Sure, but probably not as well as you. Jack tells me you’re the best marksman in the Company.” Jack could practically hear Spot preen a little at that, and he congratulated David inwardly for his expertly placed appeal to the Brooklynite’s vanity. 

“’Course I am. But if I recall, you’re not a bad guy to have around in a scrap yourself, Mouth.” 

“Aw hell, no one’s called me that in a decade.” David protested, but he was pleased. The nickname was as close to a “welcome back” that he would get with Spot. 

It was at that moment that Fitzpatrick and a couple of buddies from his unit shuffled their way over to Jack, pulling his attention away from eavesdropping on David’s conversations.  
“Hey, Cap, me and the boys got a favor to ask…” he seemed embarrassed but his jaw was squared in determination. 

“Alright, then, spit it out.” 

“Well, we heard from the Lieutenant that you was a good artist back in the day and we was wondering if maybe you could sketch our girls for us before we shipped out. We can’t afford real photographs, but we wanted something to remember ‘em by.” He was blushing furiously, but his face was set in determination. Jack’s chest constricted painfully, feeling a rush of fondness for the men in his command. 

“I’ll go with you into the city tomorrow. Tell the rest of the boys the offer stands for them as well.” He tried to remain gruff, but it was difficult to keep the laughter from his voice as their faces shifted rapidly from disbelief to joy to smug excitement as they scrambled to spread the word. Smiling to himself, he joined Spot, Race, and David on a lower bunk where a card game was starting. 

“You’re going soft, Jack.” David murmured, the words meant for his ears alone. 

“Fuck off, Jacobs. I can sympathize, is all.” 

“Why? You got a picture of a girl stashed away somewhere?” 

“You know damn well that ain’t it. I just know what it’s like not to have money.” David hummed skeptically, but didn’t press the issue. And if Jack had a photo -clipped from a newspaper and yellowed with age- of a group of boys with their arms thrown around each other’s necks, beaming and full of hope, carefully folded and tucked away in his sketchbook, well… that was no one’s business but his. 

xXx

Later that night, after lights out, Jack lay in his bed and at last allowed himself to carefully examine the feeling that had been bubbling just underneath his skin since he’d opened his door and seen David on the other side. He let it come, let it crash over him in waves while he did his best to stay afloat in the suddenly overwhelming tide. 

His heart started beating faster, chest growing uncomfortably tight. Sweat was beading on his face and neck and he had the urge to run or yell, to do _something_. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to think. He let his mind wander until, finally, images began forming themselves, unbidden but violently vivid. 

David, laughing at him over his shoulder. David, standing in the trenches, camera in hand looking absolutely fearless. David, rocking backwards as a bullet hits him in the chest. He looks at Jack, blue eyes suddenly icy and bewildered. Jack catches him, numb and cold, scrabbling helplessly at David’s uniform, trying to staunch the flow of red. David, eyes staring blankly at the grey sky.  
Something halfway between a sob and a yell threatened to tear itself out of Jack’s throat as his eyes flew open. He choked it back, breathing heavily, gripping the sheets as if to remind himself where he was and what was real. Slowly, painfully slowly, he relaxed. He tried to console himself with the knowledge that he finally had his answer, but it was a cold comfort. 

Jack Kelly was afraid. The kind of fear that paralyzed and suffocated and demanded to be felt until you were sick with it. He was afraid because David Jacobs had crashed back into his life and smiled and him and told him he was sorry. He was afraid because David Jacobs would probably die in a trench in Europe and there was nothing he could do about it. 

A distant part of him was astonished he hadn’t realized it sooner. But then, he hadn’t felt like this in almost fifteen years, so was it really so surprising he’d had trouble coming to terms with it? Groaning in despair and frustration, he buried his face in his hands and resigned himself to a sleepless night.


End file.
